


good girls do what they’re told

by kattyshack



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark Jon Snow, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/M, Forbidden Love, Lust, Manipulation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Obsession, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Teacher-Student Relationship, but it’s actually fine like they both wanna fuck equally, it’s just 6k of porn, i’m sobbing this took me like three days i am EXHAUSTED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-11 07:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15310911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattyshack/pseuds/kattyshack
Summary: When the star of his sexual fantasies comes to him desperate to get top grades in his class, Professor Snow decides he needs to take advantage of this opportunity, rules and morality be damned.(title and summary credit to jiya)





	good girls do what they’re told

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jiya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jiya/gifts).



> a/n: good news, i got myself an eye patch for this ocular migraine almost entirely so i could write fic more comfortably (and also bc it makes me Look Cool), so here’s some more damn dirty debauchery 
> 
> for jiya — whose edit, title, summary, and dialogue snippet made this fic possible bc i wouldn’t have written it if she hadn’t come up with it in the first place, and it’s so effin rad that she let me run with it like what a peach ty

He drums his fingers atop his desk, eyes flitting from the clock to the door and back and forth _and back and forth_ as he waits.

This goes on for nearly a quarter of an hour. She’s not late — though, if she were anyone else, likely he would have declined the meeting altogether since she requested it after his office hours — but he doesn’t care to be kept waiting. He supposes that’s his own fault. She hadn’t even asked him in person, so he wouldn’t have been victim to that doe-eyed gaze; much easier to tell her _no_ via email, or to at least insist that she restructure her own schedule to suit his established office hours.

Semantics, he supposes further. He’s here waiting for her all the same.

Not that she keeps him waiting for long (in fact Jon would have waited much longer, all bloody night, but she’s not to know that). She arrives precisely when she said she would, and raps her knuckles politely on the doorframe to announce her presence.

Sansa Stark is a good girl, after all. Jon hadn’t expected anything less of her.

“Afternoon, Professor,” she greets him with that smile that makes his knees go weak. “Thank you, again, for waiting on me.”

“Miss Stark.” Jon nods, but he has no interest in pleasantries, much less prolonged ones. He points his pen at the chair across from him. “Sit.”

She does so, immediately and dutifully, and promptly crosses her ankles and smooths the skirt of her dress. Jon likes that. _A very good girl indeed_ , he thinks as his eyes track her movements and wander to her bare legs. He spots a freckle just below her left knee. He likes that, too. His gaze stays there, and he sticks the pen cap between his teeth to give himself something to gnaw on.

 _Impulse control_ , he tells himself, because everything within him is screaming for him to get his mouth on something else entirely. Jon’s eyes travel upwards to land on Sansa’s hands, curled together in her lap. He notices her thighs shifting beneath her skirt, and flicks his gaze upwards again just in time to catch her tongue peeking out to wet her lips.

The pen cap cracks ominously between his teeth.

“So.” Jon clears his throat, drops the pen on his desk and straightens in his seat. _Collected, composed, don’t let her get the best of you._ “You did request this meeting, Miss Stark. What is it you needed from me?”

_Because I’d like to give you all sorts of things._

He’d imagined plenty, ever since the first day she sat herself, front and center, in his History of Ethics in Westerosi War class at the start of term. She was attentive, insightful, sharp as a knife, and wore nothing but floaty summer dresses that dipped and clung and rode up on those long delicious legs of hers. Jon hardly knows what his other students look like, he’s spent so much time on Sansa’s ankles and the curve of her calves. Lucky thing he’s so adept at compartmentalizing, otherwise the class would have gotten an earful of his filthy thoughts when he was meant to be lecturing them on morality.

When he’s alone, though, he lets those filthy thoughts free to flourish and sate him. _Clever, gorgeous Sansa…_ Jon wanted her every which way he could manage to take her before being inside her made him come. He’d like her on her knees, then on his desk; he’d like those thighs clamped around his ears and then his hips as she rode him, as he thrusted hard and fast and angry into her tight, hot pussy. He wants her _numb_ from him.

Bite marks, bruises, on her neck, on the insides of her thighs, and the stinging slap of his hand on her ass. Jon wants all that, too. He wants to bind his belt ‘round her wrists so he can explore her without distraction. He wants to flip her skirt up and see what she’s wearing underneath it — probably something sensible, demure like the rest of her, in pastel or some other muted shade — and he wants to tear it apart with his teeth.

Yes, he wants to do all sorts of things to Sansa. Anything, _everything_ to make her come, panting and screaming his name. But he shoves those thoughts to the back of his mind for now; he’ll unpack them again as soon as she leaves, when he can fist his cock under his desk while the scent of her citrus perfume lingers in his office.

Until then…

“What can I do to improve?” Sansa is asking once he’s shaken himself of his reverie. “I realize that I never should have fallen behind in the first place, but I’d very much like to rectify that. I’ll do _anything_ to get my top marks back, sir,” she adds, and a note of desperation tinges the words.

 _Anything?_ He likes the way she called him _sir_ , very much; he’d like for her to do it again, perhaps more breathy and begging next time. Jon licks his suddenly dry lips. He notices Sansa do the same, and wonders — not for the first time, not nearly — what hers taste like.

“You started off so well in my course, Miss Stark.” _And even better in my fantasies._ “What’s changed?”

Sansa shifts. Her dress rucks up a bit with the movement, but not enough to satisfy Jon. He wants it _off_ , tossed carelessly aside so he can get his mouth on her tits and his fingers in her cunt.

“A case of poor time management, Professor,” she tells him, cool as you please, and Jon doesn’t believe it for a moment.

His eyes narrow behind his wire-framed specs. “Is that it, now?”

He could have offered her an extension on past-due and pending assignments alike. That would have done the trick to get her back on track well enough. But, clearly, she refuses to give him a reason for her sudden plummeting performance; and besides, Professor Snow wasn’t known for his leniency. People would talk or, more irritating still, students would assume they could slack off and get away with it, if he went easy on Sansa now.

He doesn’t want to go easy on Sansa. His gaze roams over her again, more brazenly than before. _Quite the opposite._

She lifts her chin, defiant beneath the weight of his scrutiny. His cock stirs, and Jon thinks he might burst if he doesn’t get to fuck her — or at least imagine it, take himself in hand and _pretend_.

And yet he prolongs her departure from his office. He can stand a little discomfort; he likes looking at her far too much to resist.

“Tell me why your marks have dropped, Sansa.” His voice is gruff, harsh, with the command.

Sansa’s shoulders twitch. _Interesting_ , Jon thinks, and hides his grin behind steepled hands.

“If I told you my ex-boyfriend’s to blame, I’m afraid you’ll think me foolish,” she admits.

One brow goes up. “ _Is_ your ex-boyfriend to blame?”

“I asked you first.”

 _Cheeky._ He thinks again of binding her wrists with his belt, in punishment for her insolence — for that little spark in her blue eyes that tells him she knows very well what she’s doing, and she’s going to keep doing it.

God, that turns him on.

But Jon doesn’t wish to push the issue at hand, of the ex-boyfriend. Surely she won’t allow it, despite the fact that it must be something serious enough to affect her, yet she’s too tight-lipped for him to gauge any specifics. And, if he’s honest with himself, Jon doesn’t want to counsel Sansa on her broken heart, if the case may be.

If she’s looking to get over this anonymous, likely no-good boy by getting under _him_ , well, that can be arranged. But Jon will be damned if he’s to play second fiddle to her ex. No, if Sansa wants him, then it’s _only him_ ; he’ll make sure of that.

He leans back in his seat and studies her some more. Sansa’s spine straightens, probably subconsciously, but he appreciates it regardless; she wants to impress him, show him her worth — she wants to challenge him. Sansa Stark is a good girl, but she’s going to make him _work for it_.

That gets him hot for her, too.

Jon snakes a hand under his desk to palm his hardening cock, to relieve it. He has to stifle a groan as he does so. This is so much better with Sansa sitting right across from him, whether she knows what he’s doing or not. When he catches her thighs shifting again, the way she uncrosses and re-crosses her ankles, the tightening of her clasped fingers, the swipe of her pink tongue over pinker lips, _well_ … Jon thinks she might suspect.

“No more boyfriend, then?” he clarifies. “That is, he _is_ an ex?”

Sansa nods. The motion is a bit jerky; she must have felt it, too, because a blush stains her cheeks afterwards. Jon envisions chasing the color with hungry, open-mouthed kisses across her heated skin, imagines the filthy words he could pant against the corner of her mouth before he takes it with his own — filthy words, and promises that he intends to keep:

 _I’ll make you forget all about him_ , while his fingers creep down her stomach.

 _I’ll make you come so good, baby, you won’t even remember your own name_ , with his tongue, his hot breath panting for her, in her ear. _Only mine._

 _On your knees for me, Sansa_ , and his hands would card through her waves of mussed red hair. _Be a good girl and let me get that pretty mouth on my cock, and then I’ll get on my knees for you, too. Show me you want it and I’ll give it to you._

“My ex… He was the jealous type. It was rather…” She pauses. Her lips press into a thin line and she rubs them together. Under the desk, Jon rubs his cock again, a little harder this time. “Suffocating.”

“Was it?” _Something for me to work on, then_ , Jon thinks, though he knows he won’t. If he manages to get even one hand on Sansa, he’ll use the other to beat the competition bloody.

Her gaze falters, embarrassed, and her blush darkens. “He wanted me to drop your class.”

Jon smirks. _Did he now?_ He likes the sound of that. He wants to hear more of it, too, but first —

“Close the door for me, Sansa,” he requests, but it sounds more like a command. _Because it is._ “Professor Royce’s last class gets out at four. I can never escape him when he pops in for a chat. Best if he thinks I’ve gone home for the day.”

As Sansa does as he bid — _what else would she do for me if I told her to do it?_ — Jon’s eyes follow the sway of her hips. He curls his hands around the arms of his chair, anchoring himself so as not to spring up and go after her, to grab her by the waist and rut his half-hard cock against that sure-to-be sweet, supple ass.

Before he can lose his finely-tuned control, Sansa is back in her seat across from him, the door shut snug and tight behind her. It’s a sturdy oak thing, his office door; it hardly ever betrays a sound. Jon thinks he might even be able to fuck Sansa against it and no one would be any the wiser.

He thinks that, _finally_ , he’s got his opportunity to do that, too — to do whatever he likes to her, with her, just so long as he can convince her to say _yes_ like she means it. In fact, he plans on hearing nothing but _yes_ spilling from those dewy rose lips, before he lets her take her leave this late afternoon.

Jon abandons his seat to take one on his desk instead, to lean against it, closer to Sansa now, right in front of her. His cock is well enough under control, but her gaze drops to his belt all the same. He smirks again. _That’s right, sweetheart. Let me see how bad you want it._

“Might I ask why he wanted you to drop my class?”

“As I said…” Sansa takes a breath and Jon’s eyes fall to the intricate embroidery on her dress. “He had a jealous streak.”

_As you said, indeed._

“Mhmm.” Jon leaves his desk entirely now, and circles around to the back of Sansa’s chair. When he runs a hand through her artfully tousled braid, she stiffens and so does his cock. He leans forward to whisper in her ear, “Tell me, Miss Stark, what did he have to be jealous of?”

“He thought I — _oh_ ,” Sansa sighs, sharp and sweet, when Jon licks a stripe behind her ear.

“Thought you what?” Jon prompts when she only continues her response in short, panting breaths. He caresses her shoulders through the thin cardigan slung ‘round them.

Sansa leans into his touch, and he rewards her with his lips pressed to the underside of her jaw. “He thought I fancied you.”

“And do you?” Jon murmurs into another kiss on her neck. Her skin is soft, _so soft_ , and tart with the tang of some fruity fragrance he can’t identify — only to call it _Sansa_ , because no matter how he might encounter it elsewhere, it will only ever remind him of her.

He gives her cardigan a little tug to expose her shoulders to his wandering mouth. He can feel them tense under his touch, so he touches her more firmly, purposefully, to soothe those bunched muscles. He wants her pliant, wants her to know how good he can make her feel — how good he’s _going to_ make her feel. Like no one else can.

“Tell me yes, Sansa,” he says, tugging her sweater lower, “and I think we can work something out. I’ll raise your marks, and in exchange we can lend some credence to that boy’s concerns. Not that he’ll ever know.” Jon parts his lips over the clasp of the dragonfly pendant she wears. “But you will. Isn’t that what you want, Sansa? To have the freedom to do whatever he accused you of?” His hands knead her shoulders, slow, teasing, and his mouth follows. “I can give that to you. I can give you whatever you want, as long as you give me what _I_ want.”

Jon watches as Sansa’s fingernails dig into her skirt. She’s breathing as heavily as he is, trying to compose herself as she asks, “And what’s that?”

“You.” _Obviously._ “For you to be a good girl, and do as you’re told. As _I_ tell you. That’s very important, Sansa,” Jon adds, voice rough. “If you don’t want to fail my course, you’re all mine. I won’t share you.” He sucks, hard, on the skin below her ear to make a mark, to make his point. “Do you understand?”

 _“Yes.”_ Sansa arches as Jon continues to focus his attentions on that spot he’s claimed. Her fingers clench again. “But I don’t — I don’t know if I can —”

A moral dilemma. Jon has studied the world of ethics every which way; it’s easy enough to ascertain, to see her struggle. Good girls like Sansa Stark don’t trade sex for success. They want to come by their accolades honorably. Jon admires that, but he doesn’t want it from her. There are a great many other things he wants from Sansa, and their morals will only get in the way. Best to shove aside what they think they should do, to make room for what they _want_.

Jon trails one hand down her body to cover her quivering fingers. His touch is comforting, but his words dark so she knows he won’t take _no_ for an answer: “Did you not say that you were willing to do _anything_ to get top marks in my class?”

A shuddering sigh, followed by a nod of resolve. “I did, Professor.”

“Well then…” Rather abruptly, Jon removes his hands and leaves her to retake the seat behind his desk. _Take it away, make her realize how much she wants it._ “You know what to do.”

Sansa’s skin is pink all over. At least, it looks to be that way, and Jon intends to find out for sure.

She blinks at his statement. “Right now?”

_I’ve waited long enough._

“Good girls don’t ask so many questions, Sansa. You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” Jon loosens his tie and jerks his chin, just so, to indicate the skirt that flutters about her knees with every nervous twitch. “Lose the dress.”

Chair legs snag on the industrial carpet as Sansa stands to follow his orders. Dutiful and eager to please, even if her cheeks are pink and her hands tremble as she goes.

“Relax,” Jon instructs. He settles into his office chair, making himself comfortable as he undoes the buttons on his cuffs to roll his sleeves up. “I’m going to make you feel good, Sansa. Would you like to know how? Say yes,” he advises before she can think to say anything else. His eyes meet hers. “I want to tell you. So ask me nicely.”

There’s a smile dancing at the corners of her lips. Sansa shrugs her cardigan down to her wrists and strips it the rest of the way off, slowly, encouraging Jon to watch closely. And he does, as he folds back his left sleeve to just below his elbow.

“How are you going to make me feel good?” she asks. Jon’s grin twitches just as his cock does. “What are you going to do to me? Would you tell me, sir?”

He finishes with his next sleeve amd tells her, “Say please.”

She tugs on the zipper of her dress. “ _Please_ , Professor.”

“Good girl.” Jon offers her an indulgent smile, the same one he’d given her whenever she did especially well on an essay, and he thought about going down on her for a job well done. “First I’m going to watch you take that dress all the way off. Do it for me slowly, Sansa.”

The straps slip down her shoulders, and Sansa makes a show of dragging them over her skin. Jon thinks she’s rather enjoying herself, nevermind the blush. _Good_ , he thinks as she shimmies the dress down to her hips, revealing a plain black bra and freckles peppered across her ribs. He wants her to enjoy this, just as he is. He wants her to see it, why he wants her so badly, and then he wants to take her so she _knows_ , without a doubt.

When the dress falls to pool around her sandaled feet, Jon’s gaze falls with it. His eyes widen and he swallows audibly.

 _Red lace panties._ He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight. Not sensible or demure at all as he thought they would be earlier, when he’d let his mind wander beneath her now-discarded dress. No — these make him want to _fuck her_.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

Jon takes her all in for just a moment, because a moment’s all he can handle before he’s up out of his chair and closing the few steps of space between them. His hands go to her waist, to trace the curve of it with the blunt edges of his thumbnails.

“Take your hair down for me,” he orders, the words coming out hoarse as he pulls her to him. Their noses nudge, and their mouths are so desperately close that he can taste the mint tea on her breath. He wants to taste it on his tongue.

But not yet. He’s going to take his time.

“Yes, sir.” Sansa’s nimble fingers unravel her braid, and the hair tie joins her dress on the floor.

Jon reaches up to shake out the fiery waves of her freed hair. His eyes lock on hers again. “Call me Jon, Sansa. I want to hear what my name sounds like when I make you come for me.”

Much as it thrills him when she utters _Professor_ and _sir_ like the polished, well-mannered young woman she is, Jon wants her to drop all that polite etiquette and go _wild_ for him. He wants to drive her to the brink and hear his name chanted in ecstasy — because he doesn’t plan on giving her anything less, and he wants to know when he’s achieved it.

“Right now, Sansa.” Jon scrapes his teeth along her jaw. “Say my name.”

He nibbles at her earlobe and Sansa all but melts and sighs his name, just as he’d demanded — better, even, as her sweet breath hits his beard in a rush of, _“Jon, oh —”_

“Good girl,” he says again. She’s so agreeable, _responsive_ , that Jon thinks he’ll be saying rather a lot of that. She seems to like it, too, as she glows with pleasure at his praise. He wonders what else he can do to make her look at him like that, and resolves to try everything he’s thought of when thinking of her the past several months.

He can’t get those panties out of his head, either, not now that he’s seen her in them and little else. Jon presses his forehead to hers and plucks a first, firm but quick kiss from her lips. She’s utterly saccharine.

“That’s good, sweetheart,” his voice rumbles from deep within his chest. He groans a little when she sneaks another kiss, and he can’t help but let this one cling a little longer. “You taste so fucking good. I wanna know what you taste like here, too…”

He runs a fingertip along the waistband of that bit of red lace, scraping his nail ever so slightly across her abdomen as he goes. He cups her over the panties, a cursory touch so she knows what he’s talking about when he says, “Right here, baby. I wanna know what this pussy tastes like under all this lace. _God_ , that’s getting me hot, Sansa, seeing you in this.”

Jon dips his finger inside, just enough to snap the elastic sharply against her stomach. A gasp captures in Sansa’s throat and her hips jerk forward. He groans again and follows suit, so that his cock, hardening again, pushes against her cunt.

“That’s it.” Jon’s hands slide around to cup her ass, to direct her thrusts to move along with his. “There’s a good girl, Sansa. You like my cock on your pussy like this?” He drags his tongue up her neck. “Tell me yes and I’ll mark your grade up ten points.”

“Jon, I —” Sansa’s fingers clutch at his shoulders, the way they’d clutched at the fabric of her skirt when she’d still been wearing it. “I want —”

Her cheek is pressed to his, the softest skin up against the roughness of his beard. He turns his face to capture her stumbling words, to lock his lips to hers and taste the mint tea that lingers on her tongue.

Sansa’s breath catches at the contact and Jon’s intensifies, ripping from his lungs in short, heavy bursts as his starving mouth plunders the heady recesses of hers. She gives as good as she gets, and Jon thrusts harder against her cunt with every pass of her tongue across his, every high whimper, every _smack!_ of her pretty glossed lips over his slightly chapped ones.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asks between hungry kisses and harried breaths. “You wanted to let me touch you so you’d be back on top?” He squeezes her ass, then dips his hand between her legs. “Or did you just want to get on top of me?”

He rubs at her cunt through the lace, making her breath come ever shorter now, then gives one sharp smack to her ass when she doesn’t answer.

Sansa jumps but doesn’t pull away. Her pupils dilate further, swallowing the blue in pools of lustful black. “ _Fuck_ , Jon —”

He clicks his tongue. “A naughty thing to say, Miss Stark.”

“I’m just —”

“Turned on?” Jon supplies. He shoves his hand into her panties and moans when he finds her wet. “Yeah you are, sweetheart. You wanna know what I’m gonna do about that for you? Get on the desk,” he says, because he’s going to tell her, no matter her response. Another tap to her ass, softer this time, to get her where he wants her.

Once she’s hopped up onto his desk, feet swinging the slightest bit, Jon takes her mouth in another bruising kiss. Truly, he could do nothing but this for hours, he thinks as Sansa’s tongue flicks expertly along with his. But another day, perhaps; today he’s too worked up to stop short of anything less than fucking her hard and fast and _continuously_.

He’ll only stop when she begs him to.

“Lift your hips for me.” Jon takes her under the thighs when she does so, and yanks her to the edge of the desk. “That’s it, love…”

He shoves his hand back into her panties, with more purpose this time than to merely tease her. Sansa gasps and lifts her hips higher, begging for the friction he’s giving her with his fingers in her cunt.

He’d meant to take this slow, but it’s been _months_ of wanting her and he can’t wait anymore — not when she’s here, half-dressed and in front of him, eager to do as he asks, as he demands, and he’s just as eager to tell her.

“I’m gonna fuck you with my hand, just like this,” Jon says gruffly. He works his fingers inside of her and mouths at her neck. “I want to feel you come on my hand, and then I’m gonna eat your pussy ‘til you come again.

“Then I want your mouth on my cock,” he continues. His voice grows rougher with every word, just as Sansa’s breathing grows more ragged. “Just to know what it feels like. I don’t wanna come ‘til I’m inside you, but I want this pretty mouth —” he pauses to lick across the seam of her lips, curls his fingers inside of her, and swallows her moan “— around my cock first. I wanna see you on your knees for me. Can you do that, baby? You want to get on your knees, beg for my cock?”

“Yes, Jon,” she says on a series of gasps as she nears her peak. Her grip on his waist tightens when he thumbs at her clit. “I’ll do whatever you tell me to do, I’m all yours —”

“That’s right.” Jon covers her mouth with his to taste her high-pitched sigh, the one that tells him she’s coming just as her fluttering cunt does. “All mine, Sansa.”

He doesn’t give her time to ride out her orgasm before he drops to the floor, rips off her panties, and buries his face between her legs to give her another. He holds her shuddering thighs still as he laps hungrily at her, opening his mouth wide over her mound and slipping his tongue inside of her. She tastes sweet here, too, a tangy sort of musk that Jon is immediately addicted to. He’s going to get his mouth on her every chance he gets now.

“Take off your bra.” Jon’s face in her pussy makes the command a muffled one, but Sansa hears him well enough and unsnaps the thing. “Touch yourself. Hands on your tits. I’m gonna make you come again.”

He lifts his gaze to watch her, to make sure she’s following orders. But of course she is. _My proper, well-behaved girl… so dirty for me…_ She’s squeezing her breasts, sweeping her thumbs over her nipples, and Jon dearly wishes to follow their pattern with his mouth. Or he would, if he weren’t already face-first in her pussy, and now that he’s here he’s not sure what could entice him to leave.

He keeps at it, and it’s not long before her second orgasm crashes down, coating his tongue and beard in her release. She clamps a hand over her mouth to quiet her shout, lest anyone remains in the halls outside Jon’s office. He appreciates her good sense, but Jon thinks he’ll have to take her somewhere more private next time, if he wants to hear her scream his name.

There will be plenty of times after this one. God knows he won’t have his fill of her in one afternoon — god knows he won’t _ever_ — it’s not nearly time enough, so he intends to see to that whenever he can, as often as possible.

_Every single moment I can get her alone, I’m taking it and making her mine._

Now, Jon feels high, dizzy, with Sansa’s tang on his tongue and lingering in his nose. Everything is happening in a blur now, a whirlwind of urgency, of color and sensation. Sansa yanks at his tie to drag him to her, to claim his swollen lips with hers. His hands are in her hair and hers are tearing the buttons from his shirt to get it off him.

“God, you’re fit,” she mutters as her hands map his stomach muscles. She ducks her head to lick at them as her fingers fiddle with his belt buckle, then move to the snap of his trousers. “I think there’s something else you wanted from me, wasn’t there, sir?”

“Fuck yes, there was,” Jon growls. His hips jerk towards her when she pulls his hard cock from his trousers and immediately takes him in her mouth. He doesn’t bother to stifle his own groan. “ _Fuck_ , Sansa, you wanted this too, didn’t you? Filthy girl, you wanted to suck my cock.”

She laves her tongue over him, around him; she hollows her cheeks to take him deeper and hums an appreciative sound, just as satisfied to be going down on him as he was to eat her out.

Jon runs his hands through her hair as his head tilts back, his eyes flutter shut, and he has to count his breaths to keep them measured, to keep himself from coming in her mouth before he can feel what it’s like to be buried in her cunt.

 _That’s_ what he wants, really, Jon thinks, so —

“Stop, sweetheart.” He pulls lightly on Sansa’s hair and she releases him with a _pop!_ that somehow, impossibly, makes him harder. “I want inside that pussy. Right now, here on my desk, I wanna fuck you raw, baby. Tell me you want it.”

He wraps her hair ‘round his wrist and tugs at it, harder this time, to make her gasp in pleasure, to pull her head back so he can suck on her throat. Little purple bruises are already littered everywhere, but Jon wants to see more — wants to make it impossible for Sansa to leave her apartment without a scarf, so that she’ll remember who she belongs to until the marks fade and Jon has to brand her with new ones. And then maybe he could use that scarf to tie her hands back, to blindfold her, to play with her some more, make her shake and arch and beg for him… Keep her wanting him…

“Tell me, Sansa,” Jon says as he runs his callused palms up her long smooth thighs, “tell me you want me. This isn’t about your grades or your shit of an ex-boyfriend. You want _me_.”

“I want you,” Sansa responds without bashfulness or any hesitation of the sort. Her nails dig into his shoulders, her legs hitch over his hips as he positions her on his desk, thighs parted and ready for him to fuck her the way that he wants — hard and hot and fast. “ _God, yes_ , Jon, I want you.”

“Good,” Jon grinds out between gritted teeth. He rubs his cock against her folds, easing himself inside of her without a fucking care for anything but _her_. “That’s good, baby, tell me more.”

“I’ve wanted you since that first class — _oh_ , god,” Sansa moans as Jon inches into her, prolonging the anticipation for them both. Her finely manicured nails dig deeper into his shoulders and he prays she’ll leave a mark. “You made me so hot all the time, the way you’d look at me… I don’t even care about the grade, Jon, I just want to do whatever you tell me to, I want you to fuck me —”

“Fucking _hell_ , Sansa.” Jon latches onto her neck and sucks the soft, heated skin. “You’re getting that fucking A if I have to make you come every goddamn day —”

And with that, Jon pushes his cock into the wet, tight embrace of her cunt so hard that his desk rattles against the wall.

Sansa’s ankles cross around his lower back, so that Jon’s hands are free to roam the lines and curves of her naked body as he pounds into her. He runs them through her hair, down her neck, they cup her breasts and feel the mad hammering of her heart, in tune with every thrust of their hips.

“You like that, baby?” Jon pants into her ear, He squeezes her thigh, traces a finger in the crease and feels her muscles shudder.

She nods, a frantic movement as she lifts her hips higher and faster to encourage him. Jon takes fistfuls of her hair in his hands and pulls it back to kiss up her neck, behind her ear, where he whispers — because he’s found how mad that drives her — “You want it harder, Sansa? You want me deeper in this sweet pussy?”

“Yes.” Her fingers tangle in his curls, making his pulse skip. “Deeper, Jon, I want it faster. Give it to me, sweetheart, please.”

“Such a good girl.” Jon nudges her ‘til she’s laying flat against his crowded desk. Papers and files scatter to the floor, but Jon only sinks his cock deeper inside of her and doesn’t pay mind to anything else. “Such a good, filthy girl for me, Sansa. You deserve to be fucked like this — god _damn_ it,” he hisses a sharp breath when she pulls his hair again “— you’re so fucking sexy, you know that? I’m gonna fuck you every chance I get.”

He kisses her, hot and sloppy and clingy. “Get your mouth on me, I want to feel you suck on my neck the way you sucked my cock.”

 _“Mmmm.”_ Sansa moans into the kiss she plants on his throat, where his pulse beats mad and wild, uninhibited, all for her. She latches on and _sucks_ , and Jon fucks her harder when she hollows out her cheeks again, when she rolls her tongue over the aching skin. He wants to see that bruise she leaves and remember how good her mouth feels on him, so he’ll have something to think about — a memory, not just a fantasy — until he can have her again.

The desk slams against the wall with no real rhythm to speak of; his chair had long since rolled away to the corner, its wheels still spinning. Sansa clutches at the desk’s edge with one hand while the other clings to Jon’s neck, beading with sweat as he concentrates on loving her soundly and so thoroughly that he’ll have to carry her back to her apartment by the time he’s finished with her.

 _And I would, too_ , he thinks as he trails kisses everywhere he can reach. _Or I’ll take her back to mine and lock her up with me all weekend._

“I want you in my bed,” he grunts from between her breasts, where he’d been licking and imagined fucking her there, too, and coming on her tits. “I want your scent in my sheets, so you’re on my mind all the time…”

“Take me wherever you want me.” Sansa sighs when he parts his lips over her nipple. “I’ll let you fuck me anywhere.”

“Yeah you will,” Jon growls. “Because you’re mine, aren’t you, Sansa? Tell me.” He pinches her ass, then moves his hand between their madly canting hips to strum at her clit. “You’re _my_ girl. Let me hear you say it.”

“I’m yours. Yours, all yours,” she babbles, voice raw from pleasure as she reassures him. Her nails bite into the back of his neck. “Oh, god, _Jon_ , I’m coming —”

“Good. Keep coming for me.” He works at her harder, picking up his pace inside of her and rubbing her clit in quick, purposeful circles. “I’m almost there, let me come on your tits,” he half-orders, half-begs, but he needn’t have worried because Sansa’s nodding again —

Nodding, and shaking and sighing and arching her hips up up _up_ , legs tightening around him and hands holding him close, mouth on his shoulder so she can scream her release into his hot, damp skin…

When she moans his name, Jon moans hers as well, and pulls out to come on her chest. Her skin really is pink all over, and she blushes further as Jon finishes, swearing, breathless, and collapses on top of her, mess be damned.

They lay entwined together, sticky and sated — nearly, anyway, but Jon doesn’t think he’ll ever have enough of her, so _nearly_ ’s as good as it’s going to get. Sansa toys idly with his curls and Jon listens to her heartbeat return to normal. He wants to make it go wild again.

Several minutes pass before he can bear to part from her, but part they do — only long enough to clean themselves up, and then Jon’s kissing her neck again as she tries to get dressed.

“I don’t want you rushing off,” he says when Sansa tells him she really should be going. He catches the reluctance in her statement, though she attempts to mask it with a wry smile.

“I don’t think I’ll be _rushing_ anywhere for a couple of days.” She winces as she bends to pull her dress over her smarting body.

Jon smirks, but zips her up. “That was the idea.” His hands drop to caress her hips. “Let me take you back to mine. I think I owe you a nice long massage —” he nuzzles into her neck “— with body oils.”

Sansa turns in his arms to look at him, quizzical and hopeful and perhaps a touch suspicious all at once. She tries to mask that, too, by adjusting his bent specs. “I thought all you owed me was a better grade?”

“ _Oh_ , no.” Jon tucks her hair behind her ears. The abandoned elastic had been lost somewhere amidst his scattered papers. “I told you, you’ll get what you want, so long as you give me what _I_ want, too. And right now, what I want is to take you home with me and keep you naked all weekend.

“Maybe you can even convince me to cancel class on Monday,” he adds with a kiss to her cheek. “I was planning on an exam, but I think perhaps we could spend the day on a little extra credit for you instead, hmm?” He ghosts his lips down to the corner of her mouth to tease it with his tongue. “Would you like that, Miss Stark?”

Sansa hums, and turns her face to meet his expectant lips. “Yes, Professor,” she murmurs, and Jon catches her in another deep, dizzying kiss that crackles with the promise of _so… much… more_.

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: …i might be leaving this universe open to series expansion as well… (and by “might” obviously i mean yes i definitely will bc the OPPORTUNITIES are ENDLESS)


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